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I Have a Terrible Desire to See Your Waste Disposal Facilities - Flash Fiction by Dermot O'Sullivan

Why are we so ardently attracted to the waste disposal facilities of other human beings? Or at least the holes: mouth-hole, nipple-hole, asshole, vagina-hole or cock-hole. It seems not to matter. With some negligible exceptions, we only truly like to suck on areas of the body that may at any moment leak some unpleasant fluid onto our tongues. Any section of the body that does not fulfil this prerequisite is deemed unworthy of our attention. What strange creatures we are!

In fact, so pronounced is our species’ preference for holes that we consider those who do not share this strange perversion to be perverts themselves. Think of the Peeping Toms, the toe-lickers, and knee-suckers of this world. We reserve for them nothing short of disgust. Indeed, we castigate them for their nauseating habit of nibbling upon feet, while we calmly and joyfully press our faces between urea-laced vaginal flaps, gulp down semen or worm our tongues into the faecal highway of our chosen partner.

The race of apes called man are unrepentant foramenaphiles. About the only aspect of this fetish that we consider unwholesome is when individuals attempt to endow the human body with more holes than it is usually fitted with, or when such apertures (or others which have come about for non-sexual reasons) are then co-opted as erogenous zones. I’m thinking of men who, unsatisfied with the usual line-up, try to endow the female body with more holes through the use of a knife, or spear, or some other pointed object (there is our counter-obsession with pointy things, the yang to our yin of a generally holistic approach to life, but I won’t get into that now). Such men are reviled, though we love to watch documentaries about them. It need not be said that they compound their crime if they insert their penis into any one of these openings.

Then, of course, there are those who use war-wounds or colostomy incisions to satisfy their needs, shoving their digits into the wet mush of pre-colonic faeces or drooling over some cavity left in a leprous chin. We are repulsed by these too. As we should be. Quite right I say. For if there is anything good to be said about the human species it is that even our obsession with holes—as brutal and atavistic as it may be—even our obsession with holes has its limits.

Dermot O'Sullivan is from Dublin, Ireland. He studied English Literature in Trinity College, Dublin. His work has been published in various journals including The Honest Ulsterman, Causeway/Cabhsair, The Incubator and Fence. He currently lives in Brazil, where he recently had his first full-length play produced.

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